


Shoot Me Up (With Your Strongest Caffeine)

by SapphyreLily



Series: Seijou 4 Week 2016 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at humour, Gen, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seijoh 4 Week Day 3 - Coffee Shop AU</p><p>It all started with the café. Or rather, the fact that it was Matsukawa's turn to open the café.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot Me Up (With Your Strongest Caffeine)

It’s an ugly Thursday when you meet them. Not at the same time, no, because despite your reputation for bad luck endeavours, some deity somewhere still has a soft spot for you.

It’s an ugly Thursday morning, and you have just unlocked the door of the café, dripping – no, _pouring_ – rainwater everywhere when a short guy barrels into you, knocking the keys out of your hand.

Thankfully, they land inside the shop, and not into the drain with the fast-flowing water.

The guy apologises quickly, and if you could hear him over the rain, you might even have said that it was sincere.

But you are soggy and disgruntled and angry at the world, because it’s your turn to open the café, the morning has been extremely unpleasant, and really, you’re just not a morning person.

So you grunt at him, not even bothering to lift your head. The café door slams shut behind you, and you forget about him as you drag your drenched self to the staff room in the back.

Ten minutes later, a lot more refreshed and in a dry uniform, you whistle cheerfully as you turn on the lights in the café.

You almost scream when you see a guy sitting at one of the tables, soaked to the bone and shivering.

Upon closer inspection, you believe it is the guy who knocked into you earlier, but _what is he doing here?_

The guy offers a tentative smile, and asks if he can wait out the rain. You nod mutely, and only remember your manners after watching a shudder run through his entire body. You invite him to the back for a fresh change of clothes, because while it isn’t your fault that he’s soaked, it would make you seem like even more of an asshole to leave him there when there’s no one else in the shop.

(How To Be An Asshole 101: Slam a door in a guy’s face when it’s raining heavily, then leave him to freeze.)

(Nope, not today.)

(As much as you would _love_ to be an asshole, he’s quite a looker, and you don’t particularly want a hot guy to hate you.)

(You wonder if you can get his number by being more hospitable.)

He protests, insisting that he’s fine, but a mighty sneeze gives away just how cold he is. You give him your best ‘I told you so‘ look, and he reluctantly follows after you. Upon reaching the back room, you hand him a spare towel and the extra set of clothes you keep in the back of your locker.

You force him into the shower and go out to man the counter. You don’t expect anyone to be visiting the café in this kind of infernal weather, but you are proved wrong at the sight of yet another guy at a table. Though his hair is completely mussed up (he looks like he’s been struck by lightning), he is absolutely breathtaking.

He leaps up at the sight of you, flashing a dazzling smile and asking if you’ve seen his friend. _About this much shorter than me, spiky hair, looks like an angry hedgehog?_

And surprisingly, you know _exactly_ who he is talking about.

You tell him to wait a while, because his friend is in the bathroom (putting on your clothes), and _would you like to order a drink?_

He looks amused, but orders a caramel latte. Instead of taking a seat, he stands and watches you make his coffee, making idle small talk about the honestly awful weather outside.

He is lamenting that perhaps he should skip class, because _the weather is so bad, I’ll never make it in time anyway_ , when his friend emerges from the back, and yes, he _is_ wearing your clothes. They hang on him, too loose in the shoulders and a little tight in the hips, the pants rolled up at the ankle. Despite his overall dishevelled appearance, you feel your face flush, because damn, he looks _good._

The guy at the counter recovers first, speaking to him in a light, teasing voice. _Iwa-chan_ is how he addresses him. You quickly push the cup over, hoping that he didn’t notice your delayed response.

He glances to his friend and back to you, winking surreptitiously, and you feel like dying.

'Iwa-chan' doesn’t seem to have noticed and thanks you awkwardly, saying that he left your towel on the bench in the back room. You muster the most nonchalant smile you have, tell him it is no cause of worry, and ask him if he would like to order a drink.

His friend giggles behind him as he frowns at the menu, before he finally, finally decides on an espresso.

It’s probably the slowest espresso you've ever made.

You lose your breath when you hand him the cup, and the request for his number flies out of your head. What you manage instead is a stuttered enquiry of the whereabouts of his own clothes, to which he scratches his head sheepishly and replies that they are also on the bench. Your gaze flicks to the side in a flash of awkwardness, and you catch sight of his feet.

You suddenly remember that his shoes are soaked as well, and rush to ask if he needs a spare set of shoes. _I have some slippers you could borrow, so you could let your shoes dry out for a bit–_

Iwa-chan waves it off while his friend laughs and gives you a thumbs up from behind him. If you didn’t just meet the guy, you might throw a packet of sugar at him for being an unwelcome wingman. Iwa-chan insists that he can’t intrude on your hospitality any longer, and that he’ll take his clothes back when the rain lightens up.

A sudden familiar weight on your shoulder shoots relief and fear into your veins in quick succession. Your best friend has his chin hooked over your shoulder, and from his tone of voice, you can already imagine the owlish look on his face.

_Hey mister, your clothes are totally soaked. Why don’t you just give Issei your number and meet up another day to collect them?_

Times like these, you’re not sure if you love him more than you want to punch his guts out.

Iwa-chan stutters, hands fumbling with the coffee cup. A hand reaches out and pulls it away from him, setting it back on the counter. The other guy grins up at you and your friend and says _of course, that’s a_ great _idea_ , right before he demands one of your phones so that he can input their numbers.

Your friend promptly sticks his hand into your pocket and hands the pretty guy your phone, but before he can type anything, Iwa-chan snaps out of his daze and snatches it away.

_Stop meddling in my affairs, Oikawa._

_But Iwa-chan!_

_Shut up._

He promptly ducks his head, studiously typing out his name and number. The tips of his ears are red, and you’re not sure why that makes your heart flutter.

Your best friend grins at Oikawa, wiggling his eyebrows. _Since they are exchanging numbers already, would you give me yours?_

Both Oikawa and your eyebrows shoot up.

 _Wow, Takahiro, real smooth._ You mutter it under your breath, and he jabs you in the side, grin frozen in place. You can feel him trembling behind you, which means he is nervous and _that_ means–

 _And you thought_ I _had it bad._ You whisper, plucking the phone from his pocket and handing it to Oikawa with a smirk of your own.

Oikawa looks both amused and shy, but he does type in his number. A few clicks later, a phone rings, and he pulls out his own phone triumphantly while handing Hanamaki’s phone back to him.

_There. Now I have your number. What can I call you?_

A second phone chimes next to them as Iwa-chan hands your phone back to you. You watch as he takes his own phone out, having copied Oikawa’s example and left himself a missed call.

Tearing your gaze away from him, you squint at the font on your phone, heart thumping heavily as you eye the new contact in your phone labelled ‘Iwaizumi Hajime'.

Iwaizumi grins at you, still sheepish, and asks for your name.

And maybe it’s a bit late to ask, since he’s already in your clothes and all, but you smile, bow, and say, “My name is Matsukawa Issei. Nice to meet you.”


End file.
